


Whatever You Want, Kid

by beezyland



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Explicit Language, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Nicky's thought process is as filthy as her mouth, Pre-Series, throughout season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beezyland/pseuds/beezyland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Baby, we’re in prison. Hearts of gold or hearts in general get stomped on.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever You Want, Kid

Nicky has come to learn that sobriety after years of addiction comes with a terrifying level of clarity, a sudden grounding in reality, an awareness of every shitty detail of her shitty surroundings in her shit situation. Nicky fucking hates it. Honestly, she’d rather be high, careless, oblivious, drowning in the comfort of phantom happiness. But she owes it to Red to stay clean.

Red, who covered for her when she first stepped foot in Litchfield, who took her under her Russian kitchen-savvy wing, who offered her protection, who Nicky never has to miss because Red is always there for her. She feels she owes Red a debt and so when she hears whispers about contraband not of the Neptune variety, Nicky shoves her earphones in and cranks the volume up to the max.

She tries to keep herself distracted, mostly escaping to the chapel (how fucking ironic), lounging around and blasting music so loud and so directly into her ears she suspects it’s causing some bodily harm. So many other things are wrong with her, what’s a ruptured eardrum on top of that? So Nicky plays her music and shuts her eyes because the noise and the dark keep away all the reminders that she’s in fucking jail and it fucking sucks.

When she feels someone kicking at her shoe, Nicky opens her eyes with an Academy Award winning grimace. Big Boo stands over her with an elated smile, but Nicky refuses to get her hopes up that something interesting might finally be happening in this shithole. Nothing interesting ever happens. Things just fall apart at an alarming rate.

“What’s got you all bright-eyed and bushed-tailed, Boo?”

“You’re asking the wrong question, Nichols.”

Nicky rolls her eyes at Boo’s terrible Mr. Miyagi impersonation. “Yeah, and what’s that?”

“What’s orange all over and smells like insecurity?”

She was right not to get her hopes up. Girls come and go through this place all the time. Nothing new. Nicky rakes her fingers through her hopelessly messy hair. “So this is your way of telling me you’re turned on by fear and desperation? You know, I’m learning more about you than I ever wanted to know.” 

Nicky stretches back out on the chapel floor and stuffs her earphone back in, ready to return to her busy schedule of ignoring everything around her and how keenly aware of it she is. Just as she lets her eyes flutter shut, Boo kicks at her shoe again, harder this time. Again and again and again.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Nicky nearly growls as she sits up and lets the earphones fall away, not in the mood for Boo’s shit.

“Well, I’m glad you asked, son!” Boo shouts with mock cheer, sounding like a game show host this time around. Probably not a game Nicky is going to enjoy. “I’m trying to help you out. I—and everyone else with the least bit of common sense—know about your little _dry spell_.”

Nicky stares up at Boo, deadpan, can’t believe what she’s hearing. “You mean how I was too busy, oh, recovering from my heroin relapse to chase pussy?”

“And we’re all so glad you’re clean, Nichols! Really. Congrats.” Boo reaches out as if to touch the little pendant hanging on a gold chain around Nicky’s neck just to have her sausage finger slapped away. “So are we going to scope out the fresh meat or what?”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because checking out the new girls alone is one thing and playing your wingman is another.”

It dawns on Nicky, finally. The whole point of this seemingly pointless conversation is suddenly clear. Her ear buds have fallen into her lap, but Nicky can still hear the noise they emit, just at a distance. 

“And Mercy would have your ass shanked along with whatever poor, innocent newbie you intimidated into being your new bitch.”

Boo laughs heartily and points at Nicky before pointing to her nose. “I love the wifey, but there’s nothing wrong with window shopping, am I right? Come on, Nichols.”

Nicky sits there for a moment longer, slouching, staring down at her lap. “You aren’t gonna quit bugging me till I say yes, are you?” Boo just grins like the fucking Grinch on Christmas Eve. Nicky sighs. What the hell? “Fine.” 

Although she gets off her ass and follows Boo at a reluctant, sluggish pace, Nicky kind of hates that she’s agreed to this. Some of the days melt into others, but she can never forget her first time walking into this hell. She distinctly remembers feeling so fucking unattractive. She didn’t want anyone to look at her. She just wanted to burrow into the thin, sad goddamn excuse for a mattress and die from withdrawals.

Usually, Nicky lets the new batch of unlucky bitches find their footing and settle into their tribes before she takes her pick of the ones who don’t instantly wife up out of fear. She isn’t usually that picky. It’s fucking jail, slim pickings and all that. This is just another situation where Nicky refuses to get her hopes up.

As they walk down the main hall, Boo makes this sound of excitement, something you’d hear from a dog right before it starts humping your leg. Nicky is sure to give her a look that screams _seriously_? But Boo is too busy walking past her and right into Room Six. Nicky plays it cool, leans against the doorframe and looks into the room overcrowded with bunk beds and women.

That’s when Nicky sees her for the first time.

Dark-haired, doe-eyed and looking like her head’s in the clouds, like she refuses to believe she is where she is, wearing orange, in jail. She’s fucking adorable and totally fuckable in Nicky’s very humble opinion. The other newbies in orange are young Latina girls. One is small, pretty and crying her eyes out. The other looks like she’s been touched by the devil and gang affiliation, teardrop tattoos and everything. Still, Nicky’s eyes keep going back to the first. 

She probably stares too long, no, she _knows_ she stares too long because Boo starts laughing right at her and that’s never a good thing. 

“I gotcha, Nichols.”

 _Fucking fuck_ is all Nicky can think as Boo dramatically clears her throat.

“Well, hello, ladies,” Boo says smoothly. At least, _smooth_ in Big Boo’s eyes. DeMarco rolls her eyes from her bottom bunk. Miss Rosa, sprawled across her own bunk, turns over to face the wall, so fucking over everyone and everything. “As head of Litchfield’s unofficial woman services department, we’d like to personally welcome you. I’m Big Boo, happily taken, thank you very much, and this is Nichols, single and ready to mingle.”

As if this couldn’t be going any worse, Boo makes a v with her fingers and sticks her tongue between just to get her point across. Nicky folds her arms and stares up at the crumbling ceiling. _Fucking fuck times two_.

 “Free advice, newbies,” Nicky says coolly, shoving a thumb in Boo’s direction. “Steer clear of this one if you know what’s good for you.” Nicky surveys the room and laughs. “I love this shit. It’s like Harry Potter except the Sorting Hat is genetics so what house they end up in is pretty anticlimactic.”

 “In English,” Teardrop Tats snaps.

 “It’s pri-son,” Nicky annunciates. “Tribal. You two, Dia de los Muertos and Michelle Rodriguez, you’ll end up in Spanish Harlem.” Nicky gives the pint-size Italian a quick look. “And Bambi’s in the Suburbs with us other whities. Jesus. Where’s the old bat? Shouldn’t she be explaining this shit to you?”

“You mean the crazy old bitch driver?” Teardrop Tats says, just as defensive and riled as before. “She nearly drove us into a ditch on the way up here!”

 “Watch your fucking mouth. As long as I got eyes I can drive.”

 Nicky nearly jumps at the sound of a croaky voice from over her shoulder. Taslitz, the white-haired woman with the serial killer smirk peers into the room. She’s older, has seniority in the Golden Girls tribe, and is fucking scary.

 “Don’t you all have better shit to do than hang around here?” Taslitz sneers. “I sure fucking do.”

 “Hey, I think you forgot something.” Nicky’s eyes dart between Taslitz and Bambi who’s been quietly observing from the corner. Taslitz grunts, shoves her hands into the pockets of her thick coat, pulls out a toothbrush wrapped in plastic and hands it to the newest suburbanite.

 “C’mon,” Nicky rasps, giving the older woman a knowing look. Taslitz shoves her shaky hand into her other pocket and pulls out a bar of soap in plastic, handing that over too.

 “Satisfied?”

 “Peachy keen,” Nicky replies.

Taslitz exits in the way you’d expect a reanimated corpse to, one step at a time, dragging her body behind her. She mumbles under her breath about _Red’s girls_ and how they feel so f _ucking entitled_. Shit like that makes Nicky stand a little taller and fill her with pride.

“Hey, thanks,” Bambi says. And _that accent_. What is that? Boston? Brooklyn?

“What’s your name?” Boo asks her.

“Lorna.”

 “Last name,” Boo says. “We go by last name in here unless you’re, you know, _me_.”

“Morello.”

 Lorna Morello. Lorna Fucking Morello. Like a Sopranos character. Jesus Christ.

 Nicky nods to her. “Cool. See you around, kid.”

 

*

 

At lunch, Nicky sees Morello standing there, clutching her tray, so lost, and takes pity on the poor pretty thing. Yet another reason she doesn’t go open season on fresh meat. Now that Nicky finds herself intrigued (fascinated) she feels an urge to help the girl along, which can too easily turn to dependence. Clingers are the worst, especially in a fish bowl as inescapable and fucked up as Litchfield. At least DeMarco told her the basics that her tour guide neglected to.

Nicky tries not to think too much of it as she introduces Morello to Yoga Jones and Sister Jane. After all, Nicky’s sure she would have purposefully OD’d out of fear and misery if Red hadn’t been there for her. Nicky also does everything in her power to ignore the fact that Red helped her out of maternal instinct while Nicky really just wants to get into the new girl’s tiny orange pants.

 “So what are you in for, _Morello_?” Boo asks from down the table. She has her arm around Mercy, who elbows her playfully for her bluntness. “What? We were all wondering. Best to get the elephant outta the room.”

Morello nervously glancing up at Sister Jane and bites her lip just to slowly let it go. Nicky is fixated on what she’s doing with her teeth, completely uninterested in the food in front of her.

 “Don’t worry, hon,” Sister Jane assures her. “We’re in jail for heaven’s sake.”

“And Sister was excommunicated for her published memoir, _A Tale of Two Cities: Jesus and my Ego_ ,” Nicky adds, smirking playfully. “I personally loved it, sis. I’ve always said canonization should focus on achievement. Fuck posthumous miracles.”

“Hey Nichols, shut the fuck up!” Big Boo shouts. “New Girl, you were saying?”

 “Well, I’m in here for, uh, mail order fraud, mostly,” Morello replies sheepishly. Her voice is composed of various sounds at different pitches. It’s fucking adorable is what it is. “I don’t really wanna get into it.”

 “Like that mail order bride shit?” Mercy presses, leaning across the table, closer to the Suburb’s newest addition. “I hear Healy’s got one of those.”

“No! God no. It ain’t that…” Morello holds her fork in an odd way and pushes food around on her plate. “Ya see, I was a big online shopper. I’d order nice, often expensive things and when I’d get ‘em I’d call customer service and say I didn’t receive it so they’d refund the money. I did it…a lot.”

It’s silent at the table until Boo bursts with laughter. “And you got caught? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Nah, I’d say drugs is fucking stupider,” Nicky says. Silence sweeps across the table again, but this time it’s more tense than awkward. Everyone with ears knows Nicky’s story, she takes pride in the title _junkie philosopher_ , but that doesn’t mean anyone really talks about it. Nicky looks to Morello with a smile. “You get any good shit?”

Morello smiles back. “You bet. Dolce and Gabbana all day.”

 “You got someone waiting for you on the outside?” Boo asks, earning a sharp look from Mercy. Boo whispers in Mercy’s ear and both of their eyes land on Nicky, who notices and tries to distract herself by shoveling food into her mouth. Seriously, that King of Queens is asking for it.

Nicky misses the dreamy look that washes over Morello’s face and the breathy sigh that rides her lips, but she can’t miss the words that follow. 

“Yeah, my fiancé, Christopher.”

 

*

 

Needless to say, Boo laughs for days when they’re back in Block B and all at Nicky’s expense. It’s not like she’s the first lesbian to ever fall for (and/or turn) a straight girl, especially in prison. This place exists independent of the outside world. Some days it feels like this place exists independent of time itself.

Nicky would never admit it aloud, but she does feel kind of stupid for letting herself get so wrapped up in the pursuit of the impossible pussy. Seriously, she might as well be trying to fuck a CO. 

Finding out about Morello’s fiancé was a blow to the confidence, but it doesn’t stop Nicky from hanging out with her. Playing Scrabble and checkers, reading magazines, just talking that can get a little flirty at times. Nicky knows better, but feels herself sliding into the friend seat with a girl she’d kind of really like to fuck. A do-over card would be nice right about now.

 "So this is your place, huh?"

 Nicky's music isn't turned up as loud as usual, not that it matters because she's too busy thinking to get lost in the noise. She opens her eyes and sees those bright red Kool-Aid and Vaseline lips and, fuck, Morello even makes the khakis look cute. Improvising to preserve self-image means she’s adjusting to prison life just fine. 

 "Uh, it's kinda everyone's place,” Nicky replies. “Place of worship that is."

 Morello sits on the edge of the stage with her legs dangling over the edge. "And what does the great Nicky Nichols believe in?"

"The late, great Kurt Cobain, of course." Nicky motions to her radio and turns it off with a click. "Nah, I'm not big on that stuff, y'know."

"No?" Morello reaches out and traces her fingers along the gold chain around Nicky's neck, taking the pendent into her palm. "Saint Jude?"

"Patron saint of lost causes and desperate cases." Nicky laughs. "Red gave it to me by way of Sister Jane. Sort of a joke, I guess, but I don't know."

 "It looks good on you." Morello plays with own silver cross resting against her chest. "My mom was big on the church thing. We'd go every Sunday before she got sick...So wearing it, it’s comforting."

 Nicky nods and knocks her knuckles against the floor. She thinks of her own biological mother for a second. The woman didn’t believe in shit other than money and image.  

 "So," Morello says, "it's movie night."

 "Is that why you came lookin’ for me? You wanna share my earphones, Morello?"

 "And...jeez, what's the lesbian alternative to 'cockblock'?"

 Nicky smirks. "Twat swat. Vagected. Taco blocko. I'm the wordplay champ. I could literally go all night." 

Morello laughs and pushes her fingers through her hair. "Yeah, I wouldn't wanna do any of that to ya. No, no, I wouldn't dare," she says playfully. "I hear Gina—ombre Gina, not squirrely Gina—she's got a little thing for you despite your infamous reputation I keep hearing so much about."

 "Yeah? What have you heard?"

"The good, the bad _and_ _the ugly_." 

Nicky chuckles. “Bitches gotta talk about something.”

 Just then, two women bust in through the chapel doors, all hands and lips everywhere and weird kissing noises that seem louder with the acoustics of the room. Nicky and Morello just sit right where they are on the edge of the stage and trade looks. The lovers keep going, oblivious, like they're the only two people in the world.

 "Hey lesbians!" Nicky shouts. Sometimes she just can’t help herself. She really can’t. "Chapel's occupied! Morello, me and God are all here watching!"

 The only reply she receives is a middle finger stuck up in the air.

"Come on." Morello tugs at her hand and it takes Nicky by surprise. She can't remember the last time someone held her hand even just casually. "They're playing Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs tonight."

 "Nice. So we'll all be like that scene in Gremlins right before they all perished in the fire."

 Morello laughs and the sound of her voice is just as cute in that form. Nicky decides to make a challenge of getting Morello to make that sound more often.

 “You know, I never had a lesbian friend before.”

 Nicky laughs out loud. There’s a naivety (ignorance at times) to the things Morello says, but it comes from a truly genuine place. The girl is so consistently genuine that sometimes Nicky refuses to believe she’s real. The fact that Morello is _that_ real, _too_ real and wants to hang out with the wild-haired former junkie, shit like that means something to Nicky, who’s found little meaning in life as a whole.

Morello’s fingers are still loosely clinging to hers as they walk the empty halls and Nicky gives her hand a tight squeeze.

“Well, baby, now you have yourself the very best.”

 

*

 

They do share her earphones. To Nicky, that means just as much, if not more.

 

*

 

“Can I ask you something?”

Nicky and Morello are both sitting on her bunk with old, creased playing cards in their hands and stacks between them. Nicky looks up from behind her hand of cards and sees Morello staring at her, head slightly tilted to one side, quizzical, but mainly so fucking cute it isn’t fucking fair.

 “If it’s for fours I’ll tell you now, kid, you are shit outta luck.”

 “Why are you so nice to me?” Morello asks.

 Nicky freezes and lowers her hand of cards.

“Y’know…” Nicky combs her fingers through her mess of hair and feels awkward when her fingers get caught in a particularly gnarly tangle. “It’s like Pay It Forward. The movie with Kevin Spacey and the boy from the Sixth Sense… Red, she, uh, did me a real solid when I first got here so I figured I should…”

“Pay it forward,” Morello says cheerily.

Nicky smirks. “And you’re fucking hot so.”

Morello laughs even though Nicky was being serious. Sometimes the humor slips into her voice without her meaning to, like a natural defense mechanism or some shit. Mostly, Nicky’s glad for it, but sometimes she fucking hates it.

“There ya go again, bein’ nice.” Morello motions to her face as if forgetting she’s holding a handful of cards. “Now, I’m grateful we’re allowed to even wear makeup in this place, but the commissary selection ain’t exactly Sephora. This isn’t my color _at all_.” Morello grabs for a magazine on the end of the bed and flips through, looking for a specific page. “Now _this_. This I miss.”

Nicky is sure to make a mental note. “Okay, now give me your fucking fours.”

Morello smiles smugly. “Go fish, Nichols.”

“Fuck me.”

Morello laughs again even though Nicky really means it _again_.

 (She always does and always will.)

 

*

 

Nicky should really be use to Red laughing in her face, but can’t help how she pouts when it happens, especially after all the thought Nicky put into her pitch and her delivery was nothing less than a solid ten.

“C’mon, ma. You’re the one always saying we need to look out for each other and Lorna’s having a shit time in laundry with those crackheads. And Taslitz is old as fuck and shouldn’t even be operating heavy machinery! All I’m asking is for you to pull on your little Healy strings. At least _try_.”

Nicky takes a comically deep breath, but before she can go on, Red holds up a finger while continuing to stir a vat of whatever’s on the menu tonight.

“You know what you’re asking me, right?” Red asks in her thick, terrifying Russian accent. “It’s the kind of favor you do for family, not another potential notch on your bedpost.”

Nicky’s forehead creases, going for outrage tinted in confusion, but the dated reference just makes her want to laugh. Oh, mothers.

“Then why don’t we make her family? Lorna hangs out with all of us anyway, she definitely isn’t a threat to you and your business, and, oh yeah, almost forgot, she’s white. Ding! Ding! We got ourselves the perfect candidate.”

“Family is everything in here,” Red says sharply.

Nicky leans back against the metal counter, feeling like a teenager being lectured. (Accurately so.)

“You don’t fuck then forget family.” Red wags her finger purely for dramatic effect, Nicky’s sure. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at her even if she doesn’t.” 

“Mother always knows,” Nicky mutters, amused. “I like her. She makes me laugh and sometimes it’s even on purpose. I’m not asking, expecting indebted sex in return…though if that were to happen…”

“Please, Nicky, not around the food.”

Nicky chuckles. “We’re both adults. Give me some credit, ma. I’m sure we would handle it maturely or whatever.”

“She has a fiancé.”

 Nicky looks away, wondering if Red knows just how deep the words cut, how they serve as just another grounding mechanism that keeps her feet firmly planted in a reality she hates. Red might as well have slashed her across the wrist with one of the kitchen knives.

“The girl won’t shut up about the fiancé and their wedding,” Red continues. “She is as straight as they come. Don’t set yourself up to get hurt here, Nicky…but hell if I’m gonna try to tell you who you can fuck or not.”

 “So is that a yes?”

“Stir this,” Red orders. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Nicky jumps over to the stove and takes hold of the spatula. “I love you, mommy.”

“Keep stirring.”

“I know it’s smart to cash out while I’m up, but there’s one more thing…”

Red mumbles in Russian beneath her breath. “You will be the death of me, child.”

Nicky thinks the same thing, just about Morello.

So Red pulls her strings (“Healy’s leash,” the girls giggle.) and plants her seeds in his head to make him think it’s his idea. Almost overnight Taslitz retires and Morello starts training to man the transport van. Nicky doesn’t mention her little talk with Red to anyone _ever_ , but when the next shipment of contraband arrives, Nicky slips Morello a tube of lipstick, the exact shade from the magazine. Yeah, Nicky takes credit for that one and enjoys the way Morello throws her entire body into the hug she thanks her with.

(From that day on, Nicky has to put on a little less mascara than usual, rationing till Red decides she can have that privilege back. Whatever. 

Totally. Worth. It.)

 

*

 

Three weeks in is when the infamous Christo-fucking-pher finally finds the time to visit. Though Nicky has sort of made it a habit to watch through the glass window during visitation hours, she’s kind of glad Luschek needs her to help with the breakers or some other shitty electrical problem. Mostly, Nicky stands there and holds the flashlight.

“The new driver chick, the one who’s pals with everyone and gets teary-eyed on cue so no one calls her out on her bright red lipstick, the one that follows you around like a puppy, you hittin’ that yet?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, pervert?”

“Jesus, keep the light steady.” Nicky holds the flashlight with one hand and holds that hand with her free one. Sometimes she shakes and it reminds her of _the_ shakes and that fucking sucks. “Better. Well, can you hurry up? It’s been like fucking months since we traded a cigarette for one of your sexy lezzy stories.”

 “Did it ever cross your mind that I made all that up just to get your cigs?”

 Luschek is quiet for a long time. “Nope. You have way more pride than you do imagination.”

 “Fuck you, man.”

 “What did you say to me, inmate?” Luschek gives her a look like he’s an actual CO, just to shrug it away seconds later. “But seriously, hurry up. I’m bored out of my brain.”

 “My apologies, sir,” Nicky says sarcastically.

Nicky and Luschek have a decent relationship, as decent as a correctional officer and an inmate can be. He finds her amusing so she gets away with a lot, mostly doing nothing and goofing off in the shop. She finds him pathetic, an asshole and a drunk, but he’s also too lazy to even think about writing someone a shot and Nicky can work with that.

Luschek doesn’t bring up Morello or Nicky’s (lagging) sex life again and she’s kind of glad. Honestly, it throws her that even Luschek can tell that she’s workin’ that. Nicky’s never had to work so hard for sex in her life. She’s pretty sure she can walk into any dorm, give the right girl the right look and get some in five minutes or less, but she’s choosing not to. Instead, she’s watching whatever’s on in the TV room with Morello and assuring Morello she looks hot and listening to Morello talk about her fucking wedding and her fucking fiancé.

 _What the fuck am I doing?_ Nicky asks herself that very question when she’s lounging in her bunk later. Her thoughts are extra loud, but that doesn’t stop her from jumping at the first sight of Big Boo.

“So?”

“So, Nichols, did you ever stop to think you asked the wrong person to spy for you? Maybe you should have sent, oh, a _straight_ girl, who might have better insight on your _straight_ girlfriend’s thought process, likes and dislikes, what turns her on besides dick.”

Nicky doesn’t react, just shifts her eyes to the empty entrance to her cube. “Oh, hey, Mercy. Yeah, I know I’ve been meaning to tell you all those stories about Boo from before you got here. Back in the day with all those other Mrs. Boos…”

 Boo narrows her eyes in a deadly glare. “Tall-ish, white, enjoys a comfy knit sweater and looks like he likes to sip lattés while browsing independent bookstores. The dude was not happy; a cross between pissed off, a tad disgusted and a lot afraid of her. Seriously, he didn’t even hug her hello or goodbye. She cried through most of it.”

Nicky frowns. “That asshole.”

Boo chuckles. “I knew all of her happy-go-loony wedding plans were bullshit. He probably dropped her ass once her eBay scam blew up in her face and came to say good riddance.”

“Shut the fuck up, Boo. Don’t assume shit.” Nicky looks around though the block is pretty empty this time of day. “And don’t tell anyone about this either. 

“What are you even doing, son?” Boo asks, uncharacteristically serious and _maybe_ even a little concerned. “If this is still about banging her, well, Jesus, Nichols. She’s cute and all, but also delusional as fuck.”

 “Where is she now?”

 Boo shrugs. “Probably crying in a corner somewhere.”

 “Some fucking help you are.” Nicky storms off before she does something she might regret or reveals too much, which she’d regret even more. 

Boo watches her go, shaking her head at another classic story of lesbian falls for straight “friend.” Before she leaves, Boo swipes a bag of pretzels off the top of Nicky’s locker. For Boo’s services and troubles, of course.

 

*

 

Nicky looks everywhere. Her head is kind of a mess, has been for the past few weeks, maybe for the past few years. She has no idea what she’s going to say or what she should say or if she should say anything at all. Nicky fails to come up with a gameplan before she finds Morello in the chapel of all places.

 Tears in her eyes, twirling her silver cross between her thumb and index finger. Nicky stares because, whoa, Morello’s fucking beautiful with tear glazed eyes. Nicky feels like shit after thinking it, but can’t exactly take it back. She quietly, reverently sits next to Morello in the front row of the empty chapel.

“Rough day?”

“Hey, Nicky, if you d-don’t mind I think I-I’d like to be alone right now…”

“Don’t you think this place is lonely enough?” Nicky asks hoarsely. They sit for a long moment. “We don’t need to talk about it. We can just sit, pray, consult the—what is it? Seventeen different gods worshipped under this busy, busy roof." 

Humor again. It’s her go-to. For once, Morello doesn’t laugh.

After another long stretch of silence, Morello leans in and rests her head on Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky takes the hint, pushes her hair to the side and moves her arm around Morello’s neck, rubbing comforting patterns up and down her shoulder. It’s touching, which is more than Nicky’s got in a while, but there’s nothing sexual about it. Nicky’s surprised to realize how okay she is with that.

“This is just hard on him, you know?” Morello sniffles. “Christopher. Me being in here, it changes everything. He didn’t ask for any of this. I ruined everything. I’m so, so stupid.”

“You aren’t stupid,” Nicky assures her. “You’re shit at Scrabble…and cards…and laundry apparently…” Morello laughs a broken laugh with tears still in her eyes. “But you aren’t stupid. If he doesn’t have enough sense to wait for you to have your beautiful big ass Italian wedding then he’s the fucking stupid one, alright?”

She tells herself to be patient and wait for Morello to do something or say something, but Nicky Nichols isn’t made for waiting, which is ironic because that’s all she’s going to do for the next couple years. Nicky tries to train her eyes on the altar, but she really wants to look at Morello, gauge her reaction and maybe make her laugh.

 When the waiting becomes suffocating, Nicky glances over and sees that Morello is looking at her now, less teary and so determined. The girl who’s softhearted and usually so animated is suddenly hard to read and Nicky finds it both unsettling and exhilarating. It takes her a moment to realize how close they are. And all of a sudden it’s too fucking much. Everything is too fucking clear. The fucking clarity. She can’t with the fucking clarity.

Nicky shuts her eyes. It seems like the thing to do with how physically close she is to the straight bride-to-be she’s been thinking about none stop since she got here. She closes her eyes and feels fingertips trail down her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw. Nicky takes a breath and inhales something too sweet to be prison soap, contraband probably and just _her,_ just _Morello_.

 “You’re wrong, Nichols”—she hears Morello whisper, even closer now, in that annoyingly captivating voice of hers—“I really am. Very, very stupid.”

Nicky keeps her eyes closed because she almost likes it here, with the darkness and Morello close. All she’s missing is the noise, her blaring music, but what she does have is the pounding of her heart in her chest, racing, the human body’s own personal song of nerves and anxiety and in this particular case— _want_.

With one hand now cradling Nicky’s face, Morello leans forward and kisses her cheek. Nicky presses deeper into her touch.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’ anymore, Nicky.”

“Easy.” Nicky opens her eyes. “You’re letting me do you.”

Again, Morello doesn’t laugh, just looks at Nicky with her big dark eyes and smeared eyeliner, but fucking perfect lips that are so fucking red. Morello just nods and Nicky should probably take a step back and consider how vulnerable and hurt Morello is and how they shouldn’t. But at the end of the day, she is Nicky Nichols and so she doesn’t think about any of that as she surges forward and kisses Morello.

All this time Nicky thought they had zero things in common, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe they’re both really, really stupid.

 

*

 

Later, when they’re both sort of clothed, sort of not, and panting behind the altar, Morello turns to Nicky and asks, “So does this make me your prison bitch?”

Nicky laughs so loud it’s a miracle no one else hears it— _them_ —and fuck, she can’t remember the last time she laughed this hard. It’s even harder for her to remember the last time she was this happy while simultaneously sober.

“Hey, Nichols, we’re still friends, right?” 

Nicky smiles and tucks a curl behind Morello’s ear. “Whatever you want, kid.”

 

*

 

Success!

 _But_ sort of not?

The next day, a recomposed Morello with outlined lips and perfect curls, tells everyone that she talked to Christopher and everything is fine and every epic love has its setbacks. It’s not that Nicky was in love with the girl or hurt or whatever. Fuck that. She just knows what a dick this Christopher is and seeing Morello fake it for her prison audience (and her own sanity) is annoying.

 _But_ Nicky and her are still having sex. A shit ton of sex with Morello whining above her and Nicky’s mouth all over that smooth, porcelain skin, her fingers and tongue bringing her closer and closer. They have sex in the chapel and sex in the showers. They even have sex on the metal counter in the kitchen with Morello whispering, “We shouldn’t be doing _this_ in _here_! Red’s gonna know! Red knows everything! Nicky…oh, fuck!”). That last one only happened once, but it was an awesome anxiety-riddled once. So that’s the upside. 

 _But_ they don’t kiss, at least not on the lips, not since that first time. Nicky doesn’t let herself get hung up on little details that never mattered with any other girl. She’s content with the friendship and the benefits and especially the closeness, how Morello will press up against her, even out in the open, and how Nicky takes it as an invitation to grab herself handfuls of Morello’s tits. Just feeling out that closeness is enough. 

The other inmates (Boo) make a big fuss about their friends with benefits agreement, but Morello just turns up her nose and changes the subject (to her wedding plans, of course) and Nicky Nichols doesn’t owe anyone an explanation (except maybe Red, but it’s not like she asks). Things become steady and the future feels so far away and Christopher never visits or calls. Nicky sort of forgets to fear the worst at every turn.

“You’re crazy,” Morello says sharply. “Maria is fucking perfect! Way hotter than Anita, way hotter than any of the other girls in the movie.”

“True,” Nicky admits. “Anita was such a firecracker though.”

“You like yourself a firecracker, huh? Then why don’t I ever see you down in the C Dorms flirting with the real deal?” 

“I already got my hands full.” Nicky pulls Morello into her lap and whispers something dirty in her ear, something that makes her snow white cheeks tint red. Just as Nicky slides her hands up Morello’s delicate rib cage, creeping higher, Tricia freezes at the entrance to the cube. Morello quickly stands out of Nicky’s embrace and coughs into her elbow. 

“Sorry, guys…” Tricia tries to play off how awkward she feels with a laugh. “Not like none of us don’t know or haven’t seen you two. Those shower curtains are shreds, you know?”

Morello averts her eyes and stares guiltily at the floor. She does this weird thing where she obviously doesn’t give a shit that people know or even see, but silently seethes when people talk about them and shoots Nicky a glare when Nicky’s reaction is to laugh it off. It’s a point of pride, really, how Morello gets so immersed in the sex, in Nicky, that she pushes everything else (Christopher, the wedding, voyeuristic fuckers) out of sight and out of mind. 

“Well, I gotta go.” Morello grabs her sunglasses off the edge of Nicky’s bed. “Miss Rosa’s got another appointment. At least I got my People mag and NPR.”

“You enjoy that Maury Kind and his soothing man voice,” Nicky says. “I swear that guy could put an insomniac right to sleep, full moon be damned.”

Morello smiles and runs her hand along the length of Nicky’s leg, a quiet goodbye just for them. Nicky’s eyes linger as Morello walks away, completely forgetting that Tricia is even in the cube with her. The blonde with the braided hair and neck (throat?) tattoo makes a sound of disgust that reminds Nicky of her presence.

“What’s with the look?” Nicky asks.

“What look?”

 “The look that reads _why are you so fucking lucky, dyke?_ That look you’re giving me.” Nicky stands and peeks out at the rest of the block. She easily spots Boo and Mercy all but having sex. Bingo. “Hey, ignore ‘em. I’ll also remind you that my life as it stands is not the thing of envy.”

“Sure looked that way a second ago,” Tricia argues.

Nicky swipes a bag of cheesy puffs off the top of her locker and belly flops onto her bed. “Might I remind you of _Chris-ta-fuhhh_? Fuck, is it possible to hate someone you’ve never met? ‘Cause if so it’d be that guy.”

After tossing a few puffs into her mouth and dusting her hands off, Nicky gets down to business. She sits up on her elbows and leans forward, closer to Tricia. “You’ve got a thing for Mercy, but Mercy’s with Boo. It’s a shit situation, but also a fact of life. Everyone’s been there and you’re no different.”

“Yeah, but, Nicky…” Tricia leans closer on her end and lowers her voice. “I think Mercy likes me too. We had a moment, yo.”

Sometimes Nicky forgets that Tricia is only eighteen, too young to be locked down in a place like Litchfield. Times like this serve as a reminder and they’re damn heartbreaking.

“Good for you.” Nicky nods to her. “I mean it. I also mean it when I tell you Mercy’s gotta end it with Boo before anything happens between you two, alright?”

Tricia scoffs, left eye twitching. “You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?" 

“I love you, Nicky, but you don’t exactly got a say when it comes to girls and moral codes.”

Nicky blinks, taken aback by the direction Tricia wants to steer the conversation in. “Really? All I’m saying is, yes, Boo is more bark than bite, but also has about a hundred pounds on you so you need to be careful. It isn’t about morals. It’s about survival and making sure your head’s screwed on right.”

 “Yeah, yeah. You’re right." 

“Damn right I’m right.” Nicky shoves another puff into her mouth. “Chill, Romeo. Nothing lasts forever.” Nicky swings her legs over the side of her bed and extends the bag toward the girl who’s basically her little prison sister. Tricia steals a few puffs and the two munch in silence.

“I didn’t mean to shit on you and what you’ve got going on with Lorna,” Tricia says gently. Nicky just nods and shrugs coolly. Violent outbursts and misplaced anger aren’t exactly new around here. “It’s cool that you’re happy and, yeah, fuck that Christopher guy.”

“You can’t help what you feel and who you feel for, but don’t let it destroy you neither.”

“Yo, that’s good advice.” Tricia nods and grins in a way that makes her seem even younger than she already is. “Thanks, Nicky.” 

Like a lot of good advice, it’s easy to say and not at all to do.

 

*

 

“Remember when you asked me what I believe in?” Nicky asks quietly. She stares up at the chapel ceiling with Morello, who hums softly and adjusts so she’s tucked into Nicky’s side. “There was this thing I read once. Plato.”

“Pluto? Like the dog?”

“ _Plato_ , the philosopher. A little light on the junkie side…or maybe not, but who the fuck really knows, you know?” Nicky takes a breath when she realizes she’s rambling and notices that she has Morello’s undivided attention. “Anyway, he wrote about how, originally, humans were two in one, creatures with double bodies like Siamese twins…”

Nicky knows Morello is actually paying attention and listening by the way her forehead creases, trying to picture what that would look like. Nicky feels something at the sight of her, a rising deep in her being, something she fights down immediately, forcing her thoughts to Plato yet again.

“Uh, he said there were three sexes then—the all-male, the all-female, and the ‘androgynous’ half-male half-female—and these creatures were so powerful even the gods were scared shitless. Then Zeus split each of ‘em in two and scattered the halves. So when two halves finally find each other they never want to be separated ever again. That’s why we’re always searching for our other half, to return to our primal nature, so we can feel whole again. Neat, huh?”

“That’s beautiful,” Morello says sincerely. “And that’s what you believe?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore, but it’s one of the few philosophical texts that stuck with me over the years,” Nicky muses. “It’s a nice thought, huh?”

“Yeah, real nice.”

Nicky lazily runs her fingers up and down Morello’s soft skin, leaving goosebumps at her touch. “Supposedly, after Zeus split ‘em up, he stitched up each half and chose not to heal the navel as a reminder of the event.”

There’s complete focus in Nicky’s eyes as she watches her rough fingers draw aimless patterns against the soft expanse of Morello’s flat stomach. She’s trying to focus on anything other than Morello’s intense gaze that’s trying to meet her eyes. Nicky refuses eye contact that she doesn’t initiate, that isn’t on her terms.

“Nichols, why don’t you ever let anyone see you like this?” 

Nicky chokes out a laugh and inwardly cringes when it sounds pathetic even to her own ears. “Like what?”

“You always walk into the room like _hey_ , _I’m Nicky Nichols, fuck this, fuck that, fuck all o’ ya_ , so tough, like nothing touches ya and you don’t give a shit about anything or anyone,” Morello says. Nicky has to smile at that impersonation. “But you do. You got a heart of gold. Even when you’re spouting your Nicky Nichols patented wisdom, you don’t show anyone all of you.”

  _Except me_ is in Morello’s eyes, Nicky sees when she makes the mistake of glancing up. She’d probably enjoy the way Morello’s looking at her if her chest didn’t feel so restricted and she didn’t suddenly find it so hard to breath.  

“Baby, we’re in prison. Hearts of gold or hearts in general get stomped on.”

 “Well, I’m glad I get to see the whole you.”

Morello leans up and presses a playful kiss to her jaw and Nicky scoffs like she thinks chaste little kisses (anything without tongue, really) are stupid and a waste of time. Morello must know better because there’s a thousand-watt grin on her face and she gives Nicky’s ass a playful slap. She closes her eyes and mumbles something about heading back in a minute or two.

Once the silence settles in, Nicky wonders the same about Morello, but won't ask, wouldn’t want to ruin the moment. She really does wonder why Morello doesn't show all of her to anyone else either. The girl is seemingly an open book. She's sweet and friendly and reaffirming with everyone, but there are a few chapters she keeps to herself. One of which entitled: _Yes, I Am Pretty Into Nicky Nichols Even Though I Refuse to Acknowledge It_.

As soon as Nicky thinks it she wants to take it back. She wants to un-think it. This Morello here in the chapel looks at Nicky like she really genuinely fucking _likes_ her, like maybe if they met on the outside, even with the easy access to Christopher, if Nicky pursued she’d respond. Morello’s clearly open to public displays of we’re-totally-doing-it, but she never looks at Nicky like _this_ other than when they’re completely alone. Not that Nicky wants her to. She likes casual. Casual is doable. Then why the fuck is she even thinking about this shit?

Like she told Tricia, nothing lasts forever so Nicky’s going to take what she can while she can. Morello giggles when Nicky tweaks her nipple and kisses a wet, messy trail down from her navel. They might be more than a minute longer in the chapel. After all, Morello takes fucking long to come.

(And Nicky enjoys every fucking second of grappling her.)

 

*

 

Boo and Mercy break up. 

It starts off as a quiet conversation in the corner of the common room and escalates to a full-blown spectacle when Boo starts yelling and Mercy isn’t the type to back down regardless of who’s watching. Tricia stands as if to get involved, but Nicky grabs her arm and draws the anxious young blonde back into her seat like an older sister should.

(Red is across the room and smiles when she sees.)

It’s then and there that Nicky decides if (when) things end between her and Morello she isn’t going to flip her shit like this. She’ll take it graciously, enjoy the last bit of sex she can milk out of it and move the fuck along. They can still sit at the same table and hang out and whatever because she’ll probably be fucking someone else within the hour. Nicky is confident in this as she watches Boo shove a table over and stomp out. Her hand slips off Tricia’s arm and the youngster goes to comfort her dark-haired crush.

Tricia and Mercy officially get together a week later and flaunt their newfound bliss all over the place. Everyone else prepares for the worst. Litchfield is a scale that somehow always manages to even itself out. Two inmates happily in love means two others must perish.

 

…

 

Chapman self-surrenders and nothing is the same after that. 

Unlike about 96% of Litchfield, Nicky doesn’t blame Chapman for shit that happens after she arrives even if it’s more than interesting, pretty fucked up actually.

 Nicky sees Chapman and Morello sitting in the common room with wedding magazines open in front of them and she walks in the opposite direction. She doesn’t want to see the excitement on Morello’s face as she goes on and on about seating arrangement and the length of her veil.

“Who would’a thought? Another bride-to-be locked down in this joint,” Morello says one day as she powders her face. “Finally, someone who understands.”

“Eh, something went down between her and the tall rocker chick. You know, the hot one with the sexy glasses she probably stole from the set of the library porno she made.” Morello gives her a look from over her compact. “What?" 

Morello sighs wistfully. “I remember when I first got here, so afraid and clueless.”  

Nicky chuckles. “You were so orange.”

“You got me a toothbrush.”

“Yup, right I did. I got you a toothbrush.”

They share a smile, but as soon as they find each other’s eyes, Morello turns away and grabs her stack of wedding magazines she’s been collecting since the moment she got here. 

“I’ll see ya later, Nichols. Chapman was a little shy on her wedding dress opinions before, but now that she’s a little more settled…Dinner, right?”

“Sure.” 

Again, she’s not going to blame Chapman. Nicky figures Chapman, God bless her in all her waspy glory, reminds Morello of the person she wanted to be before Litchfield. Morello’s wedding planning antics have gone into overdrive and every day has become a struggle for Nicky to not grab the nearest utensils and destroy her eardrums the quicker, messier way.

Nicky thinks about ending it a dozen times, tired of the wedding bullshit and the Christopher bullshit. She could find someone else to fuck, probably not as pretty or amusing as Morello, but a hell of a lot less complicated for sure. But then Nicky’s big mouth landed her in the SHU and all she could think about, all that kept her sane was Morello’s voice in her head telling her everything would be okay. She thought about her a lot, not like she had other shit to do, and promised herself that once she got out she’d fuck her so good she’d forget all about Christopher, forget where they are, forget her name.

 And Nicky did… And probably traumatized (turned on?) Piper in the process. Oops?

So now Nicky’s out of the SHU and is having awesome sex with her girl and Chapman’s just always there and looking pathetic, which is fucking hilarious more often than not, and Nicky starts to sink back into the routine of things and find her footing again. She’s always been a creature of ritual and this is a ritual she can dig for the remaining of her sentence.

 Then Morello ends it after getting off one last time in the chapel. Just. Like. That.

Nicky is there on her knees as Morello cradles her cheek just to verbally slap her across the face. Her mouth hangs open, just genuinely shocked, waiting for her brain to catch up and realize that everything that made this shithole bearable is slipping away.

 

*

 

She lied.

Nicky does not handle the termination of their friends with benefits agreement with grace and maturity like she tried to convince everyone (and herself) that she would. It’s a lot of lazing around and listening to angry rock music. 50% of her time is spent thinking up mean shit to say about Morello and fucking Christopher right in front of her and 50% missing heroin. Nicky knows she sounds bitter, but doesn’t care. 

Red doesn’t say it, but _I told you so_ is clearly implied in her eyes amongst the concern and pity. Boo doesn’t say anything about it either, at least not at first, but then again she’s yet to bounce back from her own break. When Big Boo is sympathizing with you like two peas in an abandoned pod then you know you’ve hit rock bottom. Jesus Christ. That’s just sad. 

To be semi-honest, Nicky doesn’t know why she’s acting this way. It’s not like she was in love with Morello. Nope. She blames the suddenness and claims she’s just annoyed that Morello’s reason for ending it was stupid considering how much time they both have left.

“You’re bein’ an ass about all of this, Nichols.”

Nicky hears the harsh whisper and glances over her shoulder to see Morello, who looks just as upset as she sounds. Looking bored, Nicky just faces forward, mentally willing the line for laundry to hurry the fuck up. 

“Nicky, I didn’t mean… Do things really have to be like this between us? You have to understand. I just can’t anymore, okay? It’s not right…”

“Oh, because you’re straight and sorta religious like how you’re sorta gay?”

“Because I’m _engaged_.”

“Whatever.” Nicky turns to face her completely. Morello’s eyes glaze over and Nicky tells herself she doesn’t think it’s beautiful, not anymore. “What? You gonna cry? I thought you saved all your tears for Christopher.”

“Nicky, don’t be like this…” 

“I’m not being like anything.” Nicky scowls and adjusts the mesh bag hanging over her shoulder. “So forget whatever you’re thinking. Jesus, you aren’t the sun, Lorna. My shit doesn’t revolve around you.”

Morello looks seconds away from crying and Nicky refuses to see it anymore. She steps out of line and walks away. She can probably get Vause or someone to help her out with laundry off the clock and off the books. Plus, it gives her an excuse to flirt with Chapman’s hot ex.

In the moment, all Nicky knows is she has to get away. Never in a million years did she think the closeness would hurt, but now that it’s over, it really fucking does.

 

*

 

Of course Nicky votes for Morello in the stupid WAC nonsense.

She’d probably still vote for her even if Red wasn’t imposing it on all of them.

 Voting her way is as automatic as reaching across the table and tucking Morello’s dark hair behind her ear, as automatic as the silent conversation they have with their eyes (“We good, Nichols?” “Yeah, we’re good, kid.”), even as automatic as the way Nicky slips her arm around Morello as they watch Boo and Crazy Eyes dance or whatever the fuck that is other than, you know, astronomically entertaining.

Nicky swallows the hurt and moves beyond it because she realized she’s going on three years with another two left and Morello has thirty-four months and being a bitch to the girl who’s apart of her tribe and only guilty of wanting to be faithful to her man isn’t doing anyone any good. They aren’t sleeping together anymore, but Nicky is still taking what she can get when she can get it.

 _Something is better than nothing_ , she reminds herself and scrawls Morello’s name onto the scrap of voting paper.

 

*

 

After watching them wheel Tricia out of Litchfield in a body bag, Nicky just wants to be alone, which is as hard as you might assume in a place that doesn’t even have fucking doors on the bathroom stalls. Red reads her reluctance to participate, smoothes a hand down Nicky’s crazy hair and whisper for her to be strong at least in front of everyone for Tricia’s sendoff.

Calling out Pornstache on the careless way he packs Tricia’s things probably isn’t what Red meant, but Nicky does it anyway. She manages a laugh or two when they fondly recall some of Tricia’s greatest moments and tries to get excited about the hooch. As the day lags on, Nicky feels that simulated strength evaporate and opts to sit with her back against a wall, staring blankly as the others carry on a conversation.

Nicky looks blank, but her head is so clear and she’s too aware of everything. She’s aware of the real reason Tricia’s dead and why Red isn’t with them, busy honoring Tricia in her own way (vengance). She’s aware of Morello’s concerned eyes constantly on her and feels Morello’s hand ghost down her leg when Vause tries to get her to engage. Morello’s quick to save her from responding and Nicky wishes she would just fucking stop because she’s in a shit headspace and doesn’t need Morello being nice to her, stirring all those feelings Nicky told herself she buried and told everyone else she never had in the first place.

“Rough day, huh?” Morello says later on, when all the others have gone. It’s just the two of them and the cardboard Tricia standin. “You should get some sleep.”

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.”

 Morello tries to smile. “A wise junkie philosopher once told me that this place is lonely enough.”

“That junkie philosopher is full of shit.” Nicky cards her fingers through her hair and all is still in the cube. Morello doesn’t budge. “What are you even doing? Last I remember, we traded ‘fuck you’s and you were storming off, givin’ me the finger.”

“Yeah, well, we say stupid shit all the time. I know I do or at least people tell me I do after the fact,” Morello reasons. “I just wanted to say you were right. I shouldn’t’ve been talkin’ about Tricia like that." 

“You were wrong about her ratting out Red,” Nicky says firmly, “not that it matters much anymore.”

Morello runs her hand up and down Nicky’s thigh in a way that’s meant to be comforting probably, but Nicky’s body seems to interpret it differently. Nicky’s brain completely disagrees at first, but she can’t help, but flirt with the idea of comfort sex. Tricia would want that for her, right?

Nicky chuckles, always amused by how truly fucked up in the head she is. Her laughter draws Morello’s attention and must bring her back to reality because her hand halts, but remains on Nicky’s leg.

“What’s so funny?”

 “Bora Bora _Bora_ ,” Nicky replies. “The fight started thanks to Bora fucking Bora.”

 “ _Three_ Boras.” Morello laughs along, holding up three fingers for emphasis. “I was wrong about that too, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, thank God you’re hot, kid.”

 Nicky doesn’t think about it before she pushes her fingers through Morello’s soft, dark hair and she doesn’t think she imagines the way Morello leans into her touch. Nicky’s starting to feel in need of a psych eval because one minute it hurts to be around her and the next she’s back to craving the closeness, and she wants to think she isn’t alone in the feeling. 

Before either of them can decide to move closer or pull away, someone clears their throat and they both turn to see Red. Morello pulls away first, no surprise there, and Nicky slumps back against the wall, trying to keep her expression neutral, not like an irritable teenager who got scissorcepted by her mom. 

“All done here?” Red ignores the two on the bunk, walks over to the cardboard cutout of Tricia, and runs her fingers down the soft gray hoodie.

“You missed a party, ma,” Nicky says.

“I’m happy to hear you enjoyed yourselves. Tricia would have wanted you to.” Red takes a deep, shaky breath. “Nicky, we have business to take care of.”

“Alright, I can take a hint. I’ll leave ya to it.” Morello gives Nicky’s knee a squeeze and a playful pat before she saunters out of the cube. Nicky stares after her and swallows hard, suffocated by the weight of a missed opportunity.

Red scoffs. She knows without even seeing the dopey look on Nicky’s face. “The two of you are a never-ending roller coaster, I fucking swear.”

“More like a kiddie ride that doesn’t go as fast as it use to and breaks down a lot.” Nicky springs to her feet and ignores Red’s tight-lipped smile. “So what’s up?”

“We’re going to make Pornstache pay and the Diaz girl is going to help.”

 

*

 

_You only get one chance to break my heart._

Nicky runs her words through her head even as she cuts up travel magazines and pastes a self-portrait atop a groom’s body. She tells herself it’s a joke when the idea pops into her head and she tells herself it’s a joke as she adds that extra “Bora” and she continues to tell herself it’s a joke as she runs two fingers down the neat, pretty accurate drawing of Morello atop the body of a bride. 

For the record, Nicky has accepted where they’re at, really, she has. She’s shameless with the stares and the smirks and doesn’t even try to fight the memories, but she does decide she isn’t going to pursue Morello in a romantic capacity any longer. Hanging out is one thing and getting involved is another. Nicky knows that now. Life lesson learned.

There’s a ton of pussy in Litchfield and Nicky is ready to expand her radar. Less complicated, less straight, or maybe _more_ gay for the stay. So Nicky will keep hanging out with Morello, playing cards and watching TV, and she’ll keep looking, maybe sneak a touch and a wink here and there, but she won’t allow herself to get caught up in it all, not again.

After getting back from Vause’s cube, Nicky shoves her dumb collage fantasy under her bed and grabs her radio, earbuds in, volume pushed to the max. When she's sure no one else is around, Nicky pulls out the notebook she bought from commissary while riding an impulse. She opens it to the first page and starts scribbling:

 

 

_Vause – was hot, big, pillowy tits, sucked on ‘em…_

 

 

Nicky absentmindedly adds a half-assed doodle of Vause’s tits off to the side and this feels like the first step in moving on with her sex life. Vause probably isn’t the right direction, but is a direction nonetheless. Nicky makes it a point to not write about Morello because that would mean thinking about her and the sounds she makes as she comes and comes undone, how she makes Nicky work for it, dig that orgasm out of the claw machine every time. This notebook is about moving forward, not looking back. 

Going into the New Year, Nicky plans to fill the pages with details of her conquests, uncomplicated pussy on the brain, but nowhere near her heart. The poor thing was full until it broke, bursting with strands of hope and flecks of gold all swirling around a certain chick with a penchant for red lipstick. Even as she writes furiously, going on and on about how Vause is shit at being a sub, Nicky knows she’s still fucked, has been from fucking day one in that vivid, throbbing moment when she saw that Bambi face beauty for the first time.

Straight girls, man. They really do fuck you up every single time.

**Author's Note:**

> I ship them with the white-hot heat of a thousand suns. I also sit up at night wondering if Nicky ever freaking gave Morello the Christmas collage fantasy board! This ship needs more love.
> 
> Fun Fact: The original title was "The Pursuit of the Impossible Pussy."


End file.
